The doors to the royal hall of Winchester slammed open, the howling winter wind trailing in behind the grim-faced rider.
His boots echoed on the stone as he strode past the stunned courtiers, his cloak dripping sleet and mud, eyes locked on the dais where King Cnut sat slumped on his throne.
The rider bowed only briefly before extending the scroll, wax seal freshly broken, the parchment still damp.
Cnut stared at it without taking it. As though he already knew what it said.
"…It's official then," he muttered, voice hoarse.
"Aye, Your Majesty," the rider said. "King Duncan's declaration of war. Scotland stands with the Wolves of the North."
Silence blanketed the hall.
The King reached for the letter slowly, his calloused fingers brushing the seal. He read, eyes darting left to right, jaw clenching with each line. His face drained of color.
